Interruptions
by CapturedTsunami
Summary: In which Dean takes a shower, Cas walks in on Dean, Sam walks in on Cas, and Bobby manages to walk in on everyone. Destiel, Sabriel, and Bobby with a bunch of alcohol.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Smut, smut, and more smut. No real plot, just straight up smut. Don't say I didn't warn you. Reviews are the crumbs on which a writer survives – don't be stingy and the universe will reward you!

Probably with more smut…

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters represented therein. Sadly.

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**DEAN**

Witches, man, why did it have to be witches?

He hated witches. Hated their goddamn hex bags and their familiars. Hated their creepy stashes of baby bones. Hated the whole "human pimping their soul for power" because, hello, been there done that. Kind of. Except they hadn't done it for the price of someone's life, for a loved one oh no. They were doing it for a goddamn lower mortgage or so they could get back at all the people causing petty problems in their petty little lives.

God _damn_, he hated witches.

Why couldn't people just leave things the hell alone?

"Dibs on the shower," he growled as the blood and dirt spattered pair trooped through the Bunker's door, a slightly smug and disgustingly pristine angel meandering along in behind them. How the bastard managed to always come out of things looking like a goddamn daisy Dean was never quite sure. It was probably some angel mojo crap that, to be honest, the rugged Hunter had found himself envying more than once. Dean had bone dust in his hair and somebody's shredded heart sticking to his clothes. He sure as _hell_ was getting in that shower first.

Sammy rolled his eyes and promptly changed course to head for the kitchen. "Whatever man," he called. "The beer will taste better if I don't have to smell you anyway."

"Bitch," Dean muttered, striding down the hallway and not waiting to see if the younger Winchester would respond with the traditional dubious word of affection. He just wanted to get away from everyone and out of his gore encrusted clothes.

Dean shimmied out of his jacket and dropped it to the bathroom floor, loose button down and undershirt soon joining it in an untidy little heap. He hissed a little as the undershirt came off, pulling a scarce congealed scab with it. He twisted a little to get a half-decent look in the bathroom's small vanity mirror. "Shit," he muttered, prodding at the gash along his collarbone. The abrasions on his face he'd known about. How he had missed the inches long slice near the base of his throat was a little beyond him. This shit might even warrant stitches, or divine healing if Cas happened to still be around. When did it happen?

_Probably when I got thrown into the china cabinets_, he realized as he flipped on the shower and prepared to wait a small eternity for the water to get hot.

Damn witch. Perhaps that was the thing he hated most about them. Soccer moms with the pretty suburban living room and the antique cabinet filled with great-grandma Suzy's precious hand painted china shouldn't be cooking up spells with demonic powers, human hearts, and pickled fetuses. Having the broken shards of china – not to mention the cabinet – rain down on him hadn't been all kicks and giggles either. Why hadn't he checked for injuries beyond the usual rough and tumble?

"Sloppy, Winchester, you're getting sloppy," he muttered to himself.

But if he was being honest with himself he knew why he hadn't the injury or thought to look for it later. Cas had shown up then. That's why.

Shouldn't have really surprised him, but it had. It still startled Dean how quickly the angel responded to his prayers. Or summons. Or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. This time it had been a pretty straightforward: _Fuck, Cas. Sammy's tied up and I could use some help so that I don't end up as mincemeat. Again._

Apparently that fell into the proper purview of summoning angels because half a second later Cas was there, smiting the shit out of the soccer mom witch. And god _damn_ if the flashing eyes and whole _Hi, I'm an Angel of the Lord and I will smite Evil _bit wasn't a complete and total…

His cock twitched hopefully.

"Nope. Not going there," Dean growled under his breath as he climbed into the shower which, given the current trend of his thoughts, he would have done better to left turned all the way over to _freeze my balls_ cold. It was bad enough that his brain kept his dreams on a continual loop of porn featuring Dean and the angel doing everything the hunter had ever heard of, let alone actually done. It was bad enough that said dreams had him jerking off so much that even his teenaged self would have been left speechless. It was bad enough that he even – occasionally – let himself get hurt as an excuse for the angel to lay his hands on him. But this, this was just fucking ridiculous.

Sure, the angel was good looking with those too blue to be true eyes, the thick head of black hair, and that deep, precise voice. Dean could admit that. He'd thought the angel attractive even back when he thought Cas to be a complete and total dick. He was man enough to admit that. Sure, girls were more his thing but he'd never been above banging a dude if the situation was right. Not exactly bi, more… heteroflexible. Especially when Cas trotted out his Angelness and that deep voice took on a special timbre that made Dean's bones ache.

"Stop," he told himself as he helped himself to Sammy's expensive shampoo – his brother could be such a chick. "He's a fucking _Angel of the Lord_…"

And damn him if that wasn't part of the problem.

Dean groaned as he fisted his hand around a cock that had blatantly disobeyed orders and was now standing at stiff, aching attention. _Who the hell am I kidding?_ He thought to himself, biting back a moan as he leaned against the tile wall and began to pump up and down, up and down, giving a little twist at the end that made his breath hitch in his chest. _Between the adrenaline from the hunt and Cas going all "Badass Angel" it's a goddamn miracle I didn't make Sammy drive and jump Cas in the backseat of the Impala. Hell, it's a goddamn fucking miracle that I just didn't come in pants right then and there…_

Oh, he was so screwed. No, not just screwed. He was absolutely fucked with a side of a fries and a frosty milkshake and a goddamn cherry.

"Cas," he whimpered against the tile, lips barely moving as his hips jerked desperately. "Goddamn it, Cas, why do you do this to me?" _I wish you were here_, he added silently. But like that was ever going to happen. Because, let's face it – Dean was pretty sure he was going to be spending the rest of his life jerking off to fantasies and occasionally banging black haired, blue-eyed chicks when doing his hand became more empty than he'd like to admit.

Behind him, above the noise of the water cascading over his shoulders and pounding into the floor, his ears caught the unmistakable noise of the door opening and then clicking shut a second later. "Damn it, Samantha!" he yelled over the noise of the shower. "I'll be out in a minute, just…" Whatever words he had meant to come out of his mouth next died on his lips. In fact, Dean's pretty sure that every word he's ever known – English or otherwise – has been completely wiped from his brain. Words? What are words? Who cares about words? He's having a hard time breathing and he's pretty sure his heart has stopped.

God help him, he's still got his hand wrapped around his cock and the damn thing is twitching like a Mexican jumping bean. It sure as hell isn't Sam standing just inside the bathroom door. It's not even Bobby. It's Castiel, in that damn coat with his eyes that are so damn blue that Dean is one hundred and ten fucking percent sure that he is either going to pass out or explode right there on the spot. The angel stood in the steam of the bathroom, completely unfazed by the scene he had walked into, regarding Dean with a familiar, measured look.

"Cas…" The angel's name fell out of Dean's mouth in something between a moan and a growl. The side of Castiel's mouth twitched in an unmistakable flicker of a smile. Slowly the angel slipped off his trench coat and laid it, almost tenderly, across the small vanity. "Um, Cas," Dean stammers, startled by the angel's movements into regaining some of his ability to communicate. "What…what are you doing?" Whatever it is that he was doing, he needed to stop because Cas taking of some of the layers that he usually hid under was so not helping the situation at hand. Or in hand, as it were.

The side of the angel's mouth twitched again as he tipped his head slightly to one side. "I should think that it is obvious, Dean," he replied, his precise tone rumbling slightly as he loosened the tie around his neck and slipped out of the suit jacket. "You are the one who summoned me."

_Well, fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** Things get steamy.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters represented therein. I just like to take them out to play.

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**CASTIEL**

Castiel stood in the doorway to the bunker and watched Dean storm off down the corridor, the hunter muttering curses under his breath as he headed straight past the entrance to his room and on to the bathroom just a little further down. "Do you think that he is alright?" he asked, eyes narrowing as Dean slammed the door behind him. His human hadn't said more than a few words on the drive back. Five, to be precise: _Thanks for saving my ass_.

"Hmm, Dean? Yeah. I'm sure he's fine," Sam reassured without removing his head from the inside of the refrigeration unit. "He just really, really doesn't like witches."

"They are unpleasant," Castiel agreed, still staring down the hall and rocking a little against the onslaught.

The images had started almost as soon as the hunter had closed the door, the slam of the wood against the frame the breaking of a dam that swept through the angel's mind. All of them were of him and his human doing…Well, things that could only be described as _sinful_. The first time such a thing had happened he had nearly exploded right out of his vessel, completely caught off guard by the pornographic scenes marching their way through his head. If nothing else he was quite sure that he would burn from the embarrassment of such a thing.

Except he didn't die. Not at all.

He had burned, yes, but not in a way that he understood. Not really. He knew only that it wasn't unpleasant and when it happened again he blushed but did not object.

It had not taken him long to realize what was going on, to realize how those images were slipping into his head. Dean was _praying_ them, though after careful observation it became obvious that the hunter had no idea what he was doing.

And Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, did nothing to stop him.

_Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. _Dean's roughened voice trickled through his head, causing the angel to clench his teeth and look away. It was always the worst when the hunter's voice wormed its way through. It made it so much harder for the angel to hold himself back, to continue to function outside of whatever was taking place in Dean's head. It was the voice whose desperate pleas had kept him hounding hell for forty years, searching for a way in. It was the voice that had drawn him, gripped Castiel until he had gripped the man it belonged to and raised him up.

It was the voice that Castiel could never dismiss, never completely ignore.

_Between the adrenaline from the hunt and Cas going all "Badass Angel" it's a goddamn miracle I didn't make Sammy drive and jump Cas in the backseat of the Impala. Hell, it's a goddamn fucking miracle that I just didn't come in pants right then and there…_

Castiel swallowed, eyes widening slightly. That was… new. Certainly there had been images of them in Dean's baby before. Dozens of them and all of them… pleasant, but never had there been one like that. Never had there been one with Sam driving, plaintively begging the pair in the backseat to stop – a plea that angel and hunter most certainly ignored.

"… you still with me?"

Castiel snapped his attention back to his vessel and turned to face the younger Winchester who had collapsed his tall frame onto one of the kitchen chairs and was sipping at the cold beer held in one of his large hands. "My apologies. I was distracted. What were you saying?"

Sam shook his head ever so slightly, "No, it's cool. I was just asking if you were going to stick around, maybe grab some burgers down at the diner later, but if you've angel business to take care of…"

Castiel shook his head once. "I am free to stay and…" he trailed off, freezing with his hand outstretched over the chair opposite Sam as the elder Winchester's voice ripped through him, begging and pleading with raw desperation.

_Goddamn it, Cas, why do you do this to me?_ Dean's voice groaned. _I wish you were here_.

It took every ounce of the angel's will not to snap his head in the direction of the bathroom.

"…Cas?"

"My apologies again, Sam. It appears that there is a matter that I must… take care of," the angel decided, retracting his outstretched hand. The smile that Sam flashed him was slightly confused but understanding. The younger Winchester was used to Cas coming and going without any sense or warning.

"Fine man, whatever," Sam excused with a wave of his hand. "Thanks for saving our asses."

"I am sure you would have managed the situation satisfactorily," Castiel murmured as he disappeared.

He had briefly considered appearing directly in the bathroom but after a moment's thought decided that it would probably be best to give the hunter some sort of warning that he was no longer alone. Instead, he reappeared directly outside of the bathroom door, thankfully out of Sam's line of sight. Dean had never, in all the time he had known the brothers, voiced any of his unknown prayers out loud or made any allusion to them. The angel had a nagging sense that his human would prefer to keep such things from his younger sibling's knowledge.

Of course, Dean likely wished to keep them from the angel as well but _that_ stone had already been cast.

Castiel opened the bathroom door and stepped inside.

Dean was in the shower, back to the door with his forehead pressed to the wall with one arm braced over his head. The other arm was… elsewhere. Castiel swallowed.

"Damn it, Samantha," Dean swore, "I'll be out in a minute, just…" the hunter trailed off as he turned, eyes widening and body freezing as he realized who was in the room with him. For a moment the two simply stared at each other. Judging by the projection of thoughts currently racing through Castiel's head Dean quite appreciates his tan coat, even though the majority of his projected prayers feature the both of them in varying states of nakedness. "Cas…" the rough, almost growl, of Dean's voice was filled with longing.

A breath that he didn't know he had been holding eased out of Castiel's lips as he deliberately shrugged the trench coat from his shoulders. Dean's eyes widened, his pupils growing until they all but eclipsed the beautiful green that surrounded them. It was a sight that made him burn. Seeing that look in person after seeing it only in his head for months nearly stopped his vessel's heart in his chest. Because, if Castiel was being honest with himself, even if Dean hadn't been unintentionally praying indecent things into the angel's head they would have wound up there anyway.

Castiel wanted Dean. He'd wanted him from the very beginning. He hadn't even known what _want_ was and it still had consumed him.

"Um, Cas…" the hunter began, his tongue running over his lips, "what… what are you doing?"

Castiel regarded his human with scarce concealed amusement and tugged at his tie, "I should think that it is obvious, Dean," he replied calmly, cutting straight to the point as he slipped out of the suit jacket and laid it to rest on top of the coat. "You are the one who summoned me."

Dean stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open, as the angel continued to undress. He had toed out of his shoes, removed his socks, and slid his belt from around his waist by the time Dean gathered his wits enough to speak. "I… I _what?_"

Castiel paused, his fingers hovering over one of the buttons of the white dress shirt. "Did you not wish for me to be here? With you?" he asked, tipping his head to get a better look at Dean through the glass door of the shower. Once, in the beginning of their relationship, he had told Dean that all humans were works of art – beautiful, divine creations.

Dean Winchester wasn't just art. He was a masterpiece.

"Son of a _bitch…_ you heard that?"

Castiel smiled and undid another button. "You were praying, Dean. Of course I heard you," he informed him quietly. "I've always heard you. You pray… very loudly." Behind the translucent glass the hunter blushed and started to turn away, a movement that Castiel stalled by nimbly undoing yet another button. He could feel Dean's eyes on him; feel them like a physical touch as they traced Castiel's lips and followed the line of his jaw down to his throat. From there his gaze swept downwards to the sliver of pale flesh the angel had revealed. Despite the fact that the shower was hot enough to shroud the bathroom in clouds of steam the man standing beneath its stream shivered.

"Praying, huh?" Dean whispered hoarsely. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did not think you would want attention drawn to it." Castiel stepped up to the shower and laid one hand on the glass, fingers curved. If the glass had not been in his way he would have touched the hunter. He ached to touch him. He wanted to trail his fingertips across the naked man's chest and down across his hips. He wanted to trace the fall of water across Dean's skin with his lips; wanted to lick away the droplets beading along the flushed expanse of perpetually tanned skin. "And I did not find it unpleasant," he added more softly.

Dean inhaled sharply. "I'm not forcing…" He swallowed and settled for asking, "You want to be here?"

"Yes."

"Then get in the fucking shower."

Castiel didn't need to be told twice. He opened the door and stepped inside, hot water splashing pleasantly onto his skin as he all but fell into the other man's arms. The hunter dipped his head to close the few inches difference in their height and cradled Castiel's face between callused hands and asked, unspoken, with his lips gently moving against the angel's if this really was okay.

Castiel felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest. So bright… Dean was always so very bright, always making it about everyone else and not himself. Castiel knew – he _knew_ – how much the hunter wanted what he was offering. He could think of dozen similar scenarios that Dean had managed to project into the angel's head in just the past week. Yet here he was asking again, giving the angel one last chance.

One last chance. One last chance to get out of the shower and fly away, to pretend that this had never happened. One last chance for the Angel of the Lord.

The Angel of the Lord moaned.

Dean growled low in his throat and shoved the angel up against the glass of the shower wall, trapping him there with his hips. "Feel that?" he murmured as he ground against Castiel, rubbing his erection up and down the aching length that had presented itself in the angel's pants. Castiel whimpered as the movement pushed and pulled at the damp fabric separating them. "You did that to me. Just you. Always you." Dean dropped his head, letting his lips hover against Castiel's as he ran his hands across his shoulders and down the firm planes of his chest to grasp at the edges of the half unbuttoned shirt. "You're still wearing too many clothes, Cas. _Too. Damn. Many_."

The unmistakable sound of buttons bouncing and pinging off of tile and glass was lost to Castiel's ears as Dean captured the angel's mouth with his own. He nipped at the angel's lips, prodding them with his tongue until Castiel opened them with a small whimper. "That's it baby," Dean groaned, making him tremble, "let me in."

Castiel found his fingers trailing up the hunter's muscled form, tracing through the rivulets of warm water as he kissed him back in a flurry of teeth and tongue that left them both breathless and panting into the other's mouth. "Still too many clothes," the hunter muttered, pulling back enough to slip his thumbs suggestively beneath the waistband of Castiel's wet slacks. The angel slowly unknotted his fingers from the short spikes of Dean's hair and pulled them down the hunter's chest. Dean hummed in pleasure and tipped his head back, fingers curling into fists. Castiel could actually feel his eyes go, feel the pupils flare in pleasure at the sight the hunter presented to him. Dean was so beautiful. Inside and out. "_Cas_…"

With shaking hands Castiel undid the button and pulled down the zipper, letting the other man peel the slacks and boxer briefs from his body. His erection sprang free and the sensation of it hitting the warm, wet air made him shiver. A drop of pre-come quivered on the tip.

Dean groaned and sank to his knees before him. "Jesus fucking Christ," he whispered reverently, slowly running his hands up and down Castiel's legs. "You're so beautiful. So damn beautiful." He leaned forward and wrapped his hand around Castiel, drawing his tongue up the angel's cock to circle the head lightly, pressing at the slit.

"Dean!" the hunter's name fell from his lips in a hoarse cry as his hips bucked. Dean groaned again.

"So long," he murmured, stroking the angel as he spoke. "I've wanted to do this for so fucking long."

The back of Castiel's head hit the glass as Dean took him in his mouth, slowly pressing forward until Cas could feel his tip nudging at the back of the other man's throat. Dean held the position for a moment and then slowly eased back, hand following to stroke in the emptiness left by his mouth. "Dean," the angel whimpered, "Dean…" He lost all ability to speak as the hunter's cheeks hollowed, sucking him back in.

Every little piece of him tingled. He was on fire, wound and wound, every muscle in his body trying to tense and relax all in the same moment as he thrust shallowly into the hunter's mouth, fingers gripping the man's head so tightly that he was probably leaving bruises

He didn't care.

If this was sin no wonder men and angels Fell.

His cock came out of Dean's mouth with a small _pop_ and Castiel barely had time to whimper in protest, hips jutting frantically forward in search of friction, before Dean was at his mouth again. He could taste himself in Dean's mouth: musk and salt and desire. "Oh, you're not going to end that easy… not now. The things you do to me… the things I want to do to you…God, the list is endless."

"You… do… pray… vividly," Cas managed to gasp out, clutching the other man to him as he wrapped his teeth around the tendon on the side of the angel's neck, a position that allowed him to nuzzle the hunter's hair. Even after a partial shower he still smelled of the hunt. The scents of salt and dust and blood overlaid what the angel liked to think of as Dean's natural scent – metal and earth and sun warmed leather. Castiel hummed with pleasure, feeling the vibrations of a noise that could only be called a possessive growl tremble along Dean's teeth.

Dean flashed him a smile, finally releasing him. The angel didn't have to look to know that the human – _his human_ – had marked him; marked him in a place that everyone would see. The idea of people seeing Dean's mark on him made him flush with pleasure. "I've suddenly gained a whole new appreciation for prayer." He gave the angel a very dirty look and narrowed his eyes slightly in concentration.

"Oh," Castiel cried, back bowing and head going back, eyes tearing away from the spring green of Dean's eyes as the image hit his brain. "Yes," he begged, the words tumbling from his mouth without prompting. "Please. That. _Now_."

"Get out," Dean ordered, his rough voice dropping half an octave as he spun the angel around and herded him from the shower. Castiel whimpered and stumbled, going to his knees on the plush expanse of the bath rug covering the tile floor. Dean knelt behind him and pulled him close, thrusting the length of his erection into the muscled curve of the angel's ass as he yanked Castiel's head around to kiss him again. Hard. "I'm going to make you scream," he whispered in the angel's ear. "I'm going to take you so high that you won't be able to fucking breathe…"

"Yes," Castiel panted. "Yes."

Dean pushed him down onto his back, nudging his legs apart and moving so that he knelt between them. "Feel me. Touch me," he ordered, taking the angel's hand and guiding it to where his cock jutted out from his body, throbbing for attention and glistening with the sheen of pre-come. Both men groaned as Castiel wrapped his fingers around Dean. "Jesus fucking Christ," he rumbled, causing the angel to shiver as the grating voice washed over him. "Sorry," the hunter gasped quickly, clearly mistaking Castiel's reaction.

Castiel tightened his grip and pumped his hand up and down the length of Dean's shaft, unable to stifle a smile as another flurry of curses fell from the hunter's lips. "Don't. I find that I…" he paused, casting about, willing his brain to work long enough to supply him with the word he was looking for.

"You like it when I talk dirty?" Dean exhaled, finishing for him. "When I blaspheme?" Castiel nodded. Yes. That was it. To hear and see Dean fall apart and break the rules that Castiel had let rule him for the length of his existence; to know that it was _him _causing it. Yes, he liked it. "So hot, Cas, so fucking hot…" He shut his eyes and grasped Castiel's hand with his own, forcing him to stop. "Stop," he ground out, "Stop or I won't last."

An angered growl rumbled out of Castiel's chest. He didn't want to stop. He didn't want Dean to… last. He wanted to watch his hunter, watch him and see him shatter. He had to know if the reality lived up to the gorgeous images in his head. Dean chuckled softly, "All in good time," he murmured as he leaned over the angel's body to kiss him, pressing them together. Both men hissed as their cocks ground up against each other. So sweet and so, so good. Blessed relief at gaining some friction warred with the mounting pressure that the friction created. "Lube," Dean gasped, "Now."

It took a few seconds of Castiel staring at Dean's face through lust blown eyes to realize what the hunter was asking for, but a moment after the realization struck he was placing a bottle of lube in the human's outstretched hand.

Castiel trembled, forcing himself to watch as Dean lubed up his fingers. The first finger was an intrusion and the angel's body instinctively tensed against the invasion. "Just relax," Dean soothed, slowly easing in up to his knuckle and pausing to give the angel time to adjust. "I'm right here. Look at me, Cas. I want you looking at me. Let me see those beautiful eyes. That's right. Good, baby, good..." Dean began to slowly move his finger in and out in a steady, insistent rhythm. A small wail of pleasure fell from the angel's lips as a second fingered joined the first, scissoring him more and more open. "That's right, baby, give it to me, let me hear you…" Dean leaned forward to trail kisses up the angel's chest, nibbling at the puckered nobs of his nipples. "Almost there; almost ready for me," the hunter purred against his lips as he added a third finger, angling his fingers to stroke leisurely at the angel's inside. "There we go," Dean rumbled in approval as a long keen tore itself from the angel's mouth, hips jerking wildly as the hunter found some sort of magical spot inside of him. "You ready for me? God, baby, please be ready for me…"

Castiel nodded violently, unable to string together enough cohered noises to form words.

Dean hissed between clenched teeth as he spread copious amounts of lube up and down his shaft and lined himself up with the angel's open, flushed pink hole.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore, all of the air falling from his lungs in a long _whoosh_ as he pushed his way in. "So hot, Cas. You're so hot and tight and oh _my fucking god_…" Dean dropped forward, supporting himself on his hands, his entire body shaking with the effort he was exerting to _hold still _and let Castiel's body adjust to the length of him. "Not going to last long," he growled, eyes fluttering shut as Castiel rocked experimentally, "God, you're so perfect…"

Dean began to move in time to Castiel's rocking thrusts, slowly sliding himself in and out of his slick hole. "Come on baby," the hunter urged as he grasped the angel's hips and held him down, tempo and movement changing, "I want to watch you shatter…"

"Dean? Dean are you okay? I heard…" Sam's voice came to a strangled halt. Through the fringe of his lashes and blur of desire covering his eyes Castiel caught an upside down glimpse of the younger Winchester standing in a half opened door, his face a flurry of several strangled emotions. For just a moment he felt a flash of embarrassment and he made half an attempt to get up, but then Dean - who hadn't stopped moving - found that spot again. Castiel's eyes rolled back in his head, inhuman, animalistic noises clawing their way from his throat as he grabbed at the other man's flesh. He had to hold onto something, had to hold onto Dean. He had to know that this was real, had to keep himself anchored to this wondrous human.

Dimly, through the pleasure bursting in front of his eyes and across the surface of his skin, he was aware of Dean growling "Go."

Sam's boots disappeared rapidly from Castiel's hooded gaze and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Dean? I… I…" there was a pressure building. It felt like his entire body was going to explode beneath the force of the hunter's unrelenting plunge into his body.

"C'mon, baby…" Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel's cock, fingers still slick with half-dried lube. "Let go…"

Two strokes from those callused fingers and suddenly everything went white at once: a bright haze covering his eyes, his entire body stiffening and clenching as he arched into Dean's hand, the hunter's name falling from his lips in a strangled shout.

"Fuck, Cas… Just. _Fuck_," Dean cried, stiffening. The sensation of the heat of his seed filling Castiel made the angel cry out again, clutching the hunter to him as he collapsed across the angel's chest.

They lay on the bathroom floor clutching each other in a silence only broken by the pounding of the shower – no doubt cold by now – and the ragged gasping of their own breathing.

"Cas? Cas?" The angel struggled to open his eyes, to look up and focus at the face hovering inches above his own. "You okay?" Dean questioned, concern heavy on his visage. "Was that all right?" he added anxiously.

"It was perfect," Castiel whispered, raising his head to plant a soft kiss on his human's kiss swollen lips, purring a little as he felt the hunter run his fingers through his hair. "I wish to do it again."

Dean laughed softly as he eased his softening cock from Castiel's body. The angel whined in protest, disliking the suddenly emptiness that consumed him. "God, Cas, give me a few minutes," the hunter chuckled, collapsing on the floor beside him and pulling the angel up to his side, wrapping him a tender, possessive embrace. "I'm still just human."

"Yes," Castiel agreed softly. He turned to plant a soft kiss on the muscled curve of Dean's shoulder, unable to stop the rumble of pleasure the purred through him as he smelled himself on the hunter's skin. Burning, burning so bright. He couldn't have missed the human if he'd tried- so perfect and pure in the midst of all Hell's carnage. "_My_ human."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter... got away from me. Originally it was supposed to be nothing more than Sam being traumatized, Gabriel being a dick, name calling, swearing, and hot, angry monkey sex. It's what I had in my head but that is not what made it to my screen. In fact, this is so different than how I initially imagined this scene that I let this sit for thirty-six hours and even forced myself to write what I had initially planned. In the end though, I opted to for this version. This is where the characters drew me and this is where they apparently needed to go.

Let me know what you think!

**Warning: **Feels and smut.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything Supernatural. In fact, the more I delve into this world and characters the more I'm convinced that it's them taking me out to play and not the other way around.

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**SAM**

Sam had been thirteen the first time he had walked in on his brother having sex and, looking back, it honestly surprised him that it hadn't happened earlier. It had been an emotionally scarring experience, especially since they'd been doing it on Sam's bed.

Oh, his little thirteen year old self had been so... naïve? Soft? Whatever he had been he had lost it quickly. By the time he was fourteen he was well versed in averting his eyes while yelling "Dude, gross!" Not that he'd had anything against his brother having sex but why did it always have to happen on _his_ bed?

Of course, then he'd gone off to college and with the exception of the one time he'd had the misfortune of walking in on his roommate (thankfully _not_ on his bed) he'd had an event free four years. And then Dean had broken in, dragging him back into the supernatural nightmare that was his life. After that it wasn't long before Sam was once more practicing the age old art of "duck head, avert eyes, mumble unheard apologies, and get the fuck away".

He had no desire to see his brother having sex. None. But he'd come to view such occasions as something good. After all if Dean had the time and inclination to sleep with someone then the world wasn't completely going to shit. The fact that his brother's sex life was the ruler by which he measured current events was fifty shades of fucked up that he wasn't touching with a ten foot pole.

Still, _this_ was different.

_Bleach_, he thought as fled back down the corridor. _I need to bleach out my eyes. Hell, I need to drill a hole in my head and just pour the stuff in… Nope. Bleach won't be enough_, he decided. _Maybe a melon baller_ – except that was too much of a chick thing and there was no way the Bunker's kitchen stocked it_. Ice cream scoop? Maybe._ Though Sam was willing to bet that he'd be able to do at least a half-assed job with an ordinary kitchen spoon.

Sam had realized early on that his brother had exhibitionist tendencies. It was the only plausible explanation. Dean was a lot smarter than he pretended to be and the man could sneak up on werewolves, ghosts, and demons. Finding an out of the way place to have sex shouldn't have been a problem. And yet it was. Thus, the only conclusion that Sam could draw was that his brother _liked_ having an audience. Maybe not a full blown audience but an "Oh no baby, my brother might catch us! Ooops there he is!" sort of audience.

Whatever. If that was what made Dean's clock tick then more power to him.

But this was different. _This_ was Cas. No. Not just "Cas" but Castiel: Angel of the Lord. Cas – _I gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition_ - tiel.

Sam was well aware of what his brother felt for the angel. Hell, everybody in existence knew how the angel and the hunter felt about each other. Well, everyone but the angel and the hunter themselves. So on one hand Sam wanted to punch the air and yell "_FINALLY!"_ but on the other hand…

Bleach. Melon baller. Spoon. Whatever it took.

Because that hadn't been mere sex that he'd walked in on.

That had been something that, knowledge or not about the other men's feelings, he had never, _ever_ been meant to see. It was too raw, too real, and too private. Dean may get off on other people watching but not this time. Not with Cas. The look he had given Sam had been all too clear on that. That look had told him that he had exactly half a second to turn around and leave or Dean would have clawed out Sam's eyes himself.

And, _oh god_, that didn't even address the issue of the _noises_ that the pair had been making.

Bleach wasn't going to cut it.

_What I need_, Sam mused as he stumbled over to his half empty beer and desperately chugged, _is something that can simultaneously burn out my eyes and kill the noise. Like an angel. In full glory. Screaming in my ear._

"Bad choice of words, Sam," he muttered to himself as he stumbled back to the fridge and frantically rooted around for another drink. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe he just needed to get drop-down-I-might-actually-be-dead _drunk_.

"I suppose I could do that if you really wanted," a voice drawled sardonically, "but it seems like such a waste of your magnificent… _mooseness_."

"Son of a bitch," Sam swore after flinching hard enough to hit his head on the inside of the refrigerator. "What are you doing here, Gabriel? And what did we tell you about announcing yourself before you start parading around?"

Rubbing at his head with one hand, Sam slammed the fridge door with his foot and raised his beer to his lips as he turned around to glare at the archangel lounging in one of the wooden chairs, feet thrown up on the table's surface. Gabriel gave Sam one of his best bitch faces and rolled his eyes. "What do you think _this_ is," he muttered, opening his arms and gesturing at himself. "This is me. Announcing myself. Honestly, Sammy-boy…for being the brains of the family sometimes you're a little slow. As to why I'm here… Well. I was out there, minding my own business, getting down with Lindsey Lohan – Lovely girl by the way. So misunderstood. Lots of fun. Lots and _lots_ of fun…"

"You're a pig."

"Sticks and stones, Sam… sticks and stones..." Gabriel waggled his finger at Sam as he propped himself up against the wall of the kitchen and nursed his beer, still wary of drawing close to the Trickster. "Anway, so I was partying away, minding my own business when little Sammy Winchester's voice comes floating through the ether. Something about wanting an angel to burn out his eyes and break his ears and you know me… I just can't seem to pass up the opportunity to drop in on you boys."

"I think things may have just gotten worse," Sam muttered, directing his comments to the ceiling. _Strike that_, he added silently as a chorus of semi-muffled cries reached the kitchen. "Definitely worse," he sighed as Gabriel's head whipped around, a gleeful smirk spreading across his face.

"Sounds like somebody's getting _lucky_…"

"Yeah," Sam cut him off before he could continue with whatever else had popped into his head. "Our brothers." He took another large swig of beer. _Stronger_, _I should have gone with something stronger. Dean's still got some whiskey around here somewhere…_

"Our…" Gabriel's eyes widened comically as he looked back to Sam, feet hitting the floor with a thump. "Brothers?" Sam nodded. "You're… you're not playing with me are you? It's really Castiel and Dean… _together_?" Sam nodded again. "Well, I'll be damned," Gabriel murmured, gaze flickering back in the direction the noises – thankfully silenced – had come from. "They finally did it. Castiel finally gave Dean his flower. This… this is just… Oh my god, it's like Christmas. No, this is _better_ than Christmas. Way better. This is…" he rubbed his hands together gleefully. A second later he froze, eyes going wide again and focusing in on Sam with an intensity that made him shiver. Sam silently groaned as he watched the archangel put the pieces together. "_That's_ why you want to cause yourself damage. _You_ walked in on _them_!"

The Trickster bounced to the balls of his feet and practically skipped around the table towards Sam, waving his arms and giggling in a way that could only be described as maniac. "Gabriel…" Sam pleaded, knocking his head against the wall. Maybe he could knock the images out or give himself a concussion. Amnesia… was it too much to hope for amnesia?

"Our. Brothers," Gabriel all but screamed, his face positively glowing, "bumping uglies. Doing the nasty. The ol' bump and grind. Hitting a home run. The lust and thrust. The horizontal mamba. Banging each other _so damn har…_"

"GABRIEL!"

The angel came to a halt in front of Sam, open hand outstretched to presumably smack an invisible ass. "Yes?" he asked mildly.

Sam inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, and exhaled to the count of ten. He would control himself. He would. The last thing Dean and Cas needed was to be irrupted. Because, let's face it, Dean would flat out kill him and then have Cas drag him back so he could do it all over again. "I'm trying to forget," he told the angel evenly, forcing his voice to come out calm. "_Forget_."

"No, no, no, no," Gabriel scolded, taking a step forward and shoving his finger into Sam's face. "No forgetting. Forgetting is not allowed until you give me details."

"Dude! Gross! Just…" he shoved past the angel and stalked over the table. He couldn't see the angel but he could feel the damn Trickster rolling his eyes and hear him huffing like disgruntled teenage girl. Sam raised his beer to his lips and swallowed. He really needed to find something stronger. Also, he needed to stop praying. He should just strike the world _angel_ from his vocabulary.

"Sam, my man, you can't hold out on me. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this day?" Gabriel's voice drifted from behind him. "Dude, I've got to know. Did they actually…" Gabriel's boisterous laughter echoed around the room. "No, wait they made it to actually going the whole nine yards. If they hadn't you wouldn't be quite so traumatized. So I _have_ to ask: was my uptight, straight-laced with a stick up his ass brother finally _getting_ a stick up his ass _or_ was your uber macho, alpha male brother finally taking it like a girl and begging for more?"

Sam threw his beer. He wasn't even aware of doing it until he heard the glass of the bottle shatter against the wall. "_SHUT UP_!" he roared, rounding on the angel and slamming the smaller being up into the kitchen wall with enough force to make the refrigerator rattle. "Just shut up, Gabriel," he growled in more moderate volume. "I know this is a perfect opportunity for you to mess with everyone's heads and just be an all-around _dick_ but I'm begging… just don't."

The smile died from Gabriel's face, though the angel didn't bother snapping himself out from underneath the forearm Sam had pressed against his esophagus. _Of course_, Sam realized belatedly, _it's not like he actually_ needs_ to breathe_.

"Dude. It's just…"

"Don't," Sam growled again. "Don't you dare say '_It's just sex'_ because what I walked in on was about as far from 'just sex' as you can get. I'm warning you, Gabriel, don't mess with this. Dean doesn't even know what real happiness is, not really. He's always given everything away – sold it, traded it, used it for someone else. He's given everything of himself, body and soul, more than once. And he's…" Sam broke off and looked away, tears suddenly burning at his eyes. "He's finally started going somewhere with Cas." He let out a shaky breath and turned back to Gabriel, releasing him from where the angel was allowing Sam to pin him against the wall. "I just want my brother to be happy," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't fuck that up for him. Don't." Sam stumbled backwards until his legs hit a chair. He collapsed into it, shaking his head as a single tear managed to force its way out from between his eyelids. "He deserves this."

Sam dropped his head into his hands. He's happy for Dean, he really is. So goddamn happy that it hurts. At the same time though, he'd be lying his ass off if he said that there wasn't some dark little corner of his soul that was burning up with jealousy. He'd given up on ever having a normal life. Hell, he'd given up that dream the moment he'd looked up and realized that Jess was plastered to the ceiling. Still, he had hoped, that someday, somewhere this mess might all actually _end_ and that he'd have someone looking at him the way Cas and Dean looked at each other when they thought no one was looking. (And _son of a bitch_ wasn't _that_ just going to get a thousand times worse now).

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I understand?" The soft voice that filled Sam's ears was so unlike everything he had ever heard come out of Gabriel's mouth that he had to force his head upward just to make sure it was still the angel speaking.

It was.

Gabriel's face was void of any of its usual levity as he tipped his head ever so slightly to look down at Sam. Some small corner of Sam's brain – the part that usually had to poke and prod and be a jerk – found it amusing that even with him sitting and the archangel standing their eyes were nearly level. "It's only been in the last handful of years that you've realized what Dean does, what he's been doing his entire life. You've only had to watch him with that knowledge weighing at your heart for half a decade and it's tearing you apart. Now," the angel turned his face away, unexpectedly gripping Sam's shoulder with enough force to bruise. "Imagine doing that for thousands upon thousands of years. Imagine being the older brother and watching your younger siblings zooming about with bright and shining faces, eyes so full of wonder and love. Imagine that there is one, one who shines even brighter than the rest and you say to yourself _'that kid is going places_."

"Imagine that you come back after years away on assignment and find that, in your absence, all of that wonder and love and _everything_ that made them all burn so bright is gone. They have been reduced to shadows of their former wonder. All their potential has been beaten down and locked up – left behind in the interest of forming soldiers. Imagine how that would take your breath away; how it would make you feel here," Gabriel's hand slipped from Sam's shoulder and trailed down across his throat and collarbone to rest over the steady thumping of his heart, "to watch that happen."

"Imagine that you tuned and left, left because the pain was too great, and you took to wandering the Earth. You partied, you pried. You messed with mortals and immortals alike. Anything to distract from the pain in your chest. Imagine thousands of years spent doing nothing but serving up just desserts – lifetimes of being a dick just to siphon some of the blackness of out of your chest."

Sam tipped his head back enough to stare at the archangel's face, stunned. Even with that gesture, Gabriel still refused to look at him. Instead, he remained focused on some distant corner of the kitchen, his jaw set in a straight line with a tightness around his eyes that Sam was all too familiar with. It was straight out of the "Dean Winchester School of Avoiding the Expression of Emotions".

The angel was struggling to not cry.

"And then one day," Gabriel continued roughly after a lengthy pause, "one day the cry goes out – "_A Righteous Man sits in Hell_" and you watch as all of your younger siblings lay siege to the Pit. For thirty years you watch as they fight and they burn and they bleed, clawing tooth and nail to break into the prison they normally kill to keep shut. You hear the roar from inside, the exalted cry and you know that the Righteous Man has broken and that so has the first seal. You watch as some of your siblings turn away. You watch as some continue fighting. And then ten years later you hear another cry – a thundering roar that spreads, echoing out to the dawn and the sunset of time, rippling through all that has been, is, and will be: "_Dean Winchester is saved!" _And you know, god help you, you _know_ that it was him. The little one that you'd watched all those millennia ago. The one who had had shined so brightly, even amongst the others – so inquisitive and fierce and loyal and true."

Sam swallowed, raising a hand to dash away the tear trickling down his cheek. Gabriel shut his eyes and Sam could feel him trembling, the fingers pressed against his shirt shaking ever so slightly.

"Imagine that you see them side by side – human and angel – and _my god_ how they _burn!_ Together they burn so brightly, bright enough to light the world. Bright enough to burn away all the darkness. And in your heart you feel the lurch of hope, hope that someday you might see something other than the perfect soldier in your brother's face." Gabriel turned his gaze back to Sam, unable to hide the tears blurring his eyes or the small smile that plays across his lips. "Imagine _that_, Sam Winchester, and then try to tell me that I don't understand. That I don't fucking _know_."

Sam's eyes blurred again and he inhaled sharply, forcing the tears to retreat. His throat burned and he found himself swallowing convulsively around the lump that had formed there. He wasn't exactly Dr. Phil but he knew that this moment needed to be acknowledged, somehow, someway. Suddenly desperate to say something, anything, he forced himself to clear his throat. "Gabriel," he began, but the angel cut him off with a condescending pat to the cheek.

"Don't sweat it Sammy-boy," the angel drawled and kissed him.

Sam was ninety-eight percent sure that the angel did it to throw him off guard, to make him forget about the emotions and memories he had just trotted out. He could understand that. Gabriel wasn't one to show emotions. Hell, he didn't even know that Gabriel had them. Up until this point he had pegged the angel as nothing more than a gigantic dick – which he still was, but now he was something else, too. He was a brother: a brother who was happy and terrified and sad all in the same moment.

So Sam kissed him back.

Gabriel froze beneath the touch of Sam's lips, which edged Sam's surety of the archangel's original intentions up to a whopping ninety-nine percent. Sam couldn't help but smile, just a little, as he reached up and ran his fingers through the angel's hair. It was softer than he expected, like the down on a newly hatched chick.

The angel moaned softly at the touch, rocking back into Sam's fingertips. Sam obliged him, tightening his grip around Gabriel's hair until his nails grazed the skin stretched across the other man's skull. Gabriel steadied himself with a hand on Sam's shoulder, slipping his hand around to fist his fingers in the lengths of hair at the base of Sam's skull as he returned the kiss with a desperation that, on some level, didn't surprise Sam.

"Whoa, Winchester, I didn't know you swung that way," Gabriel murmured, finally breaking the kiss, presumably to allow Sam a chance to breathe. His head was swimming and he was seeing black spots but, _damn,_ the kiss had been worth it. The powerful, demanding touch of the angel's lips against his had honestly made him forget that he needed oxygen to live.

"I could say the same of you," Sam managed to gasp in between his less than subtle attempts at getting air into a body that was realizing just how starved for oxygen it was.

Gabriel bitch faced him again, though really - from this proximity and angle – it was almost kind of cute. "Sam, I'm an archangel," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "It would take more paper than this earth could supply to list the things you don't know about me."

"Dick." Sam clenched the soft, worn fabric of the angel's fitted tee.

"Forceful, Sammy," Gabriel purred as he lowered his lips. "I like it."

Sam smiled at that thought and yanked the downwards on the angel's shirt, prompting a small yelp of surprise to spill from Gabriel's mouth as Sam pulled the smaller man down into his lap. Sam groaned as the muscled angles of the angel's body rubbed up against the aching erection currently trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. He hadn't even been aware of getting hard, but after a kiss good enough to make him forget breathing he wasn't exactly surprised.

He growled and wrapped his arms around the angel, grabbing onto the curves of Gabriel's ass and hauling him in closer. Closer. He had to get the god damn angel closer. Beneath his touch the angel turned into pliable, responsive putty. He flexed his fingers against Gabriel's ass and the angel untangled his legs, moving to straddle Sam. Both men sighed as Gabriel sank back down, this new angle aligning both of their erections and pressing them together, trapping them between the planes of their stomachs.

"Air," Sam gasped as his vision began to swim again. Gabriel backed off just enough to let him breathe and rolledhis hips. "Not helping," Sam managed to gasp out. Gabriel chuckled and settled into a delicious, torturous rhythm, snapping his groin up and down against the lap on which he was perched.

"Not trying to," drawled Gabriel as he mouths soft bites along the line of Sam's jaw. His fingers trailed to the center of Sam's chest and began to undo the buttons of his dirty plaid with quick, dexterous movements.

"Bastard."

"Jack ass."

Sam tipped his head back to give Gabriel easy access to his neck. The angel hummed in approval as Sam's hands kneaded at his jean-clad ass, fingers slipping beneath the cotton tee to stroke at the tender skin at the base of his spine. Not quite willing to have Gabriel stop working on his neck, each nip and press of the angel's teething forcing little breathy moans from his lips, Sam slowly raised the shirt upward until he reached the impasse of Gabriel's head.

Gabriel, at Sam's prodding, moved enough for the man to remove the angel's shirt, dropping his eyes to admire the lines of muscle. He could feel sweat beginning to bead underneath his own clothes and along the line of his lips. It's a sweat that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the bunker and everything to do with the half-naked angel in his arms who was watching Sam's stare with a heavy lidded gaze. Sam let a smile spread slowly across his face and casually licked the line of sweat from his upper lip in a long slow movement.

"Hope you got enough air," Gabriel groaned, toppling against his chest and catching Sam's face up between both of his hands. His lips are hot and demanding, firm against Sam's own until Sam draw's the angel's lower lip into his mouth, sucking it in and caressing it with teasing nips of his teeth. Gabriel gasped, mouth opening, and Sam takes control. Clutching at Gabriel with every ounce of strength he shoves his tongue into the angel's mouth, plundering it and tracing it until the archangel – God's most fearsome weapon – was mewling like a lost kitten at his mouth.

"Oh, balls."

The familiar sound of Bobby's cursing sounds around the room, shocking Sam out of his conquest. He blinked rapidly, feeling a crimson tide rise in his cheeks as he strains to pull himself together enough to… well… do _something._

"Hey Bobby," Gabriel greeted, blinking slowly as he turns to face the older hunter. The archangel looks like sin itself with blushed skin, bright eyes, and swollen lips. And god help him, Sam wants to drag that face back around and kiss him until he begs. "As you can see we're busy, but seeing as its your house you're welcome to watch if you want."

"Gabriel!" Sam found his voice somewhere between his desire to reduce the angel into a quivering mass of need as he fucked him up against the wall and the sudden flash of alarm as the archangel's words sank in.

"Hell, no!" Bobby cried, already backing up. "You just… I'll just… Oh, fucking balls," he groaned, turning and disappearing back down the hall.

"Hmmm," Gabriel mused, turning back to Sam. "Guess no audience for us today."

"Good," Sam growled, pulling the angel in for another kiss.

"So, don't like an audience?" Gabriel managed to gasp out between a somewhat frantic resumption of their earlier activities.

Sam shook his head, unable to stop another growl from rumbling around his chest as Gabriel shoved his unbuttoned shirt off of his arms. "Don't like to share," he corrected, palming the angel's erection through the layers of fabric that still separated them. Gabriel groaned.

"Damn, Sam, the pretty things you say…" He hissed again. "I don't have time for this shit," he muttered, causing Sam to jerk beneath him.

"What?" He began to ask, confused, but then the angel snapped his fingers.

A chorus of appreciative groans filled the kitchen as the rest of their clothes vanished beneath the whispering touch of Gabriel's angel mojo. The moment their cocks rubbed up against each other, tips dripping pre-come, they both arched. Slowly, eyes on Gabriel, Sam reached between their bodies and wrapped his hand – blessing the size and reach of his grip – around both erections and pressed them together. "So hard," he grunted out as he flicked his thumb over both their heads and spread the dampness downward. "God, I want to taste you. I want to wrap my lips around you and feel you throbbing in my mouth. I want to hold you down and watch you bed. I want to lay you out on the table and fuck you until your eyes roll back in your head and you can't help but scream…" Gabriel's voice hitched in his chest, a whimper falling out of his lips as Sam punctuated every comment with another swipe of his thumb. "But I'll be honest Gabe," he continued, smiling as the archangel's eyes flickered open at the shortening of his name. "I'm not entirely sure I'll make it that far."

Both men groaned again as Gabriel's cock practically jumped.

"Apparently my momentary lack of stamina is inspiring?" Sam drawled, amused as he sucked on the decidedly delicious expanse of skin that stretched across the angel's collarbone.

The angel grunted in amusement. "No," he corrected, pulling back enough so that he could look Sam in his face. Sam swallowed and felt his own cock twitch beneath the twist of his hand at the sight of the angel's blown' pupils. "But the fact that you desire me that much?" He dropped his head back to curve of Sam's neck. "It's nice to be wanted for _me_," he whispered in Sam's ear. "Now," he added, his voice dropping an octave as he rolled his hips, "_Move_!"

Sam tightened his grip around their cocks and obliged, thrusting upwards in short, sharp, rolls of his hips. Gabriel groaned and matched him, grinding down at the apex of each thrust so that not only were they simultaneously fucking the tight hole of Sam's fist but each shift, each flutter of movement stroked their cocks together. It was agonizing and delicious, a slow build that slowly wound Sam tighter and tighter.

He tightened his grip and began moving it in short, quick pumps that traveled up their trusting shafts and twisted at the heads to rub against the sensitive glands.

"Fuck," Gabriel growled in his ear and smashed his lip's into Sam's.

They ate each other like they were starving, feeding from the other's mouths like it was the last scrap of substance in existence. Sam's hand between them kept moving, pattern of hip and hands growing erratic as he hovered at the edge. Black dots began to swim before his eyes but damn if he cared right now.

Gabriel stiffened suddenly in his lap, every muscle straining to attention as he came. The sensation of his come, hot and sticky, plastering itself against Sam's chest sent him over the edge, crying out into the angel's mouth.

When Sam was finally able to open his eyes it was to the realization that he had either passed out or the orgasm had been just that good. _Or both_, he thought wryly as he blinked slowly, trying to draw the kitchen ceiling into focus as he drew gasping breaths of air into his lungs. Gabriel had collapsed against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in the crook of his neck. Sam could feel his breath, erratic as his own, pushing at the length of his hair.

"You okay Sam?" the archangel asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," Sam panted. "Definitely."

"Good."

Despite the fact that Sam knew they should get up and cleanup he wrapped his arms around Gabriel and idly stroked the dips and lines of the angel's back. For a long moment the two men sat there, somehow supported only by a rickety kitchen chair, and held each other in silence.

Sam leaned his head against Gabriel's and pressed a kiss to the back of his head, shivering slightly at the brush of his down-soft hair.

And if Sam happened to notice the drop of hot liquid against his shoulder and the trail that it ran down his back he never did say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **With this chapter we come to an end of this fic. I'd like to extend heartfelt thanks for every comment, favorite, and follow. It warms my writer's heart and brightens my day.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural. Sigh.

* * *

**BOBBY**

It had started out innocently enough.

First there had been demon signs. Then the demon signs had ceased only to leave a lot of weird stuff in their place. People getting a little too lucky; some people getting a little too _un_lucky. Which meant that somewhere out there some little housewife or driven career girl had decided that they'd had _enough_ of whatever hardships life had thrown at them and had pimped their soul away in exchange for some of hell's powers. Pansy little princesses. When life gave you lemons you grew a pair of a balls and squeezed the damn things. You didn't going cryin' to the devil and getting' him to _solve_ all your problems. What kinda idjit traded the whole of Fort Knox for a hotdog 'cause they were hungry?

Witches, that's who.

And goddamn if Bobby didn't hate witches. More than that, having a witch pop up practically in his own backyard? It just wasn't right.

He'd offered to go with the boys but they'd shrugged him off. After all, when all was said and done, a witch wasn't the scariest thing out there. Plus, he'd gotten his hands on some new texts that he was just itchin' to dig into. So he'd let them go off huntin' all on their own. Never mind that half the time when he looked at them he saw their younger selves: Dean so serious and watchful, eyes always moving like a hawk as Sammy tagged along behind him, playing. They were grown damn men and long, _long_ past the need for any sort of supervision – or help – on hunts. Mostly. Kinda. Sometimes.

So when Sam had called to let him know that they were fine and that the witch had been taken care of he'd mentally patted them on the back and told him how proud he was of the fine men they'd become. Course, the fact that Cas was now with them had made him curious as hell. It meant that either there was something that the angel wanted help with or something had happened to prompt Dean to bust out his prayer moves. Though, god knows the boy was prone to doing that more and more often – especially if it'd been too long since he'd seen the angel.

Not that Bobby would ever point that out to him. He wasn't stupid.

Bobby rolled his eyes and slid his paper of tidy notes into the sheaf of yellowed papers to mark his spot and stood up. He could have sworn that he'd heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening and closing not that long ago, followed by the tell-tale rumble of Dean calling dibs on the shower. When that happened Sam usually grabbed a couple of beers and joined him in the library, giving him the rundown on the hunt while the details were still fresh. One could never know too much about this sort of shit.

The hallway was empty, though the doors to both Sam and Dean's bedrooms stood open and the bathroom door was shut, the sound of streaming water leaking out from behind it. "Shower hog," Bobby muttered as he passed by. No doubt all the hot water was nearly gone, which meant that Sam was going to bitch and moan like a princess.

"Oh, balls," the words fell out of Bobby's mouth before his mind had fully registered what it was that his eyes were seeing. Of course, the moment that it sank in that Sam was sprawled on a kitchen chair with another – half naked – man straddling his lap, tongue so far down said man's throat that Sam can probably taste what he had for breakfast last week, Bobby began to regret his idea to come check on his boys.

Clearly, they were doing fine. Or at least Sam was.

The sound of his voice jerked the two men apart, Sam panting for breath as his cheeks turned a vicious red. "Hey Bobby," Gabriel greeted, prompting Bobby to take a half step back in surprise. If he'd been betting on men that would end up in Sam's lap, well, _Gabriel_ sure as hell wasn't one of them. Much less looking like _that_. "As you can see we're busy, but seeing as it's your house you're welcome to watch if you want." It took a moment for the archangel's words to sink in, no doubt helped along by Sam's reprimanding cry of "Gabriel!"

"Hell, no!" Bobby cried, finding his voice as he backed from the kitchen. "You just… I'll just… Oh, fucking balls," he groaned, turning around as a particularly artful thrust of Gabriel's hips made Sam's head roll back and a moan rumble in his chest.

A love spell – or _lust_. That had to be it. The witch had to have gotten to them somehow. Because there's no way Sam would be doing _that_ to _Gabriel_ otherwise, right?

Bobby paused at the bathroom door. It was relatively quiet on the other side, the shower finally shut off. Dean would know, he decided as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Dean would know if something had happened to Sam.

The door to the bathroom opened, wrenched inward before his fist could fall against the wood, and two – _two?_ – bodies tumbled out, slamming into him and knocking him halfway to the ground.

"Bobby?" Dean's voice was odd – strangled, and it prompted Bobby to look upward. It was an action that he regretted. Immediately.

Castiel was with him, pressed up against him really. The way Dean had his hands fisted in that mop of black hair he kind of had to be. They were also very naked and very happy to be that way. Together.

"Balls," Bobby muttered again, clambering to his feet.

Dean at least was looking at him, blinking like a drugged owl while Cas growled and sucked at Dean's neck. Out of the periphery of his vision – because he sure as hell wasn't trying to look – Bobby could see a blossom of red and purple marks dotting Dean's torso. He profoundly wished that he had stumbled into the angel and hunter first because _them_ he could believe. But Sam and Gabriel? Goddamit. Now he had to ask.

"Uh. You boys…? You didn't happen to…?"

"Spit it out Bobby," Dean muttered, head flying back to hit the wall of the corridor as Cas growled against his flesh, stepping in closer to the hunter and pressed into him with a demanding persistence that part of Bobby was cheering even while he was trying to forget having ever seen it. "We're kind of… _ busy_."

Yes. Bobby could see that. Unfortunately.

"Well, I just… Now don't get me wrong, I'm happy for you two. 'Bout time, I'd say. But…"

"_Bobby_!" Dean's rough admonition turned into a sharp cry as Castiel wrapped his hands around Dean's ass and hoisted effortlessly, trapping him against the wall as Dean's legs wrapped around the angel.

Not good. Definitely not good. He needed to get out of here. He also needed to look into soundproofing his room and the library. Immediately.

No. No, Bobby couldn't leave yet goddamnit. If it'd just been these two he would have fled, all too happily, but with Sam wrapped up with that sumbitch in the kitchen he was duty bound to…

Bobby cleared his throat.

"_What?!"_ Dean shouted as Castiel growled, clearly unhappy about Bobby's continued interruption.

"A spell! Did the watch cast some sort of spell on ya'all?" Bobby finally managed to spit out as Castiel caught Dean's lips and prevented the boy from answering. Understandable, of course. It's hard to answer when you've got a fucking angel eatin' your tonsils. "I… uh… wouldn't ask," he continued, willing his voice to push through the panting animal noises coming from the pair in front of him. God help him. "Except Sam's out in the kitchen with Gabriel in his lap doin'…" he motioned at the pair in front of him, praying that they'd just understand him and not make him speak it. Balls, it'd been horrifying enough to _see_ it.

"What?" Dean panted in surprise, managing to break free of Castiel's lips. "Sam and…_Gabriel_?"

Bobby lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair, trying very desperately to not look at what Cas was doing. "Uhhh… yeah. So, that's why…"

"There is no spell," Castiel growled as he finally raised his head, his voice roughened to the point that Bobby scarcely recognized it. "Whatever it is they are doing you can rest assured that they do it of their own free will."

Dean gasped, head banging against the wall, "_Fuck_, Cas…"

Bobby swallowed, thankful that he was momentarily unable to look away from the blue ringed pupils that stared at him. He didn't want to know what the angel was doing to warrant that sort of response from Dean.

"I suggest you leave," Castiel added as Dean thrashed, gasping in his arms.

Bobby didn't need to be told twice. If an Angel of the Lord told you that he and others were free of some witch mumbo jumbo you sure as hell believed him. And if he told you to go away so that he could have sex with your adopted son, well… that surely was something that no man needed to see.

So Bobby turned and strode back to the library, trying vainly to ignore the wordless rumble of the angel's voice and Dean's echoing whimpers that were all too clearly a mixture of Castiel's name, begging, and profanity.

_Alcohol_, he thought to himself. If there was ever a time in his life to get fall down drunk this was that time. Give him a monster any day but there was no way that he was brave enough to go prancing past both pairs of lovers to get out and away.

So instead he locked himself in the library and after a moment of thought pulled down the bottle of whiskey that Dean had stashed behind one of the many books on vengeful spirits (and types thereof) before collecting his beer from earlier and settling into the chair in the far corner. It was as far away as he could get from the four men.

"Balls," he muttered before chugging the rest of the beer.

Beer and three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey later, Bobby Singer lay stretched out on the library floor, staring at the ceiling humming softly to himself. It was silent, for now. He doubted that it would last long. Hence the humming. It helped. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.

Still, he couldn't help but smile. Just a little.

Okay – maybe more than a little. But he wouldn't tell them that.

"Buncha idjits," he slurred as he finished off the bottle.


End file.
